


i love you

by ohthislove



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1920s, Angst, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 16:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: Inspired by the Billie Eilish song, Aziraphale and Crowley unexpectedly run into each other in another era, except this time is unlike any other.





	i love you

The air smelled like sweat and perfume and liquor and cologne. The gas lights hanging above cast a warm yellow glow down on the dance floor of crowded bodies, obscuring their faces until they all looked indistinguishable from one another. Some of the girls’ dresses caught the light and reflected it with every twist and spin. The sound of laughter and glasses clinking against one another and the live jazz music up on stage filled the air. The atmosphere was so carefree and jovial, it was hard to see any of it ever coming to an end.

It was hard to see everything ever coming to an end.

The year was 1928, and Aziraphale sat at a black, metal table at the back of the cramped speakeasy, slightly dizzy from the cocktail in his hand. He had to admit, he didn’t think he would enjoy spending time in barrooms like this one, but he found himself indulging in the convivial environment. However, he had his limits. In the past, some people had approached him and asked to buy him a drink or to dance, but he had turned them down. He liked to keep his distance and always observed the activity from afar.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spotted movement at the door to the establishment. He turned his head, and sure enough, he saw it: a tall, lean shadow lurking at the back of the speakeasy and slinking along the walls. It dodged any light that intercepted its path and maneuvered around anyone that came close to it. But Aziraphale knew that was no shadow, but a certain demon he happened to be rather fond of. _What was he doing here?_

He observed the shadow until it drew close enough to him so it was within earshot. “Crowley!” he shouted over the loud music.

Sure enough, the shadow’s head snapped towards him. There was a moment of hesitation before it stepped into the little pool of light surroundings Aziraphale’s table, revealing itself to be the demon Crowley. His dark red hair was slightly shorter than when he had last seen him, and he had finally gotten rid of those God awful sideburns. He wore an all black, three piece suit and a fedora on top of his head. Even though it was dark inside the barroom, he had his signature sunglasses on to conceal his yellow snake eyes.

“Aziraphale.” There was a tinge of shock to Crowley’s voice, and he looked the angel up and down. “Still the same as always.”

If it weren’t for the dark interior, Crowley would’ve seen the hint of blush that made its way to Aziraphale’s cheeks. He was wearing the same coat he had worn for centuries. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on an assignment, so I thought I should come and check out the scene.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked around. “The Americans have had it good for too long. Their time must come to and end.” He focused back on Aziraphale. “What about you?” His eyebrows raised. “You’re not responsible for this, are you?”

“What, me? Oh, no.” He put a hand to his chest and laughed. “My people hate this sort of thing.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you here?”

“Well, I have to say I do delight in some of the fun. It really is intriguing, the things humans choose to spend their time on.” He folded his hands in his lap.

“Shouldn’t you despise all of this?” He gestured around him to the dance floor. “Isn’t it supposed to be sinful?”

“Oh, my type couldn’t care less about prohibition.” He dismissed his statement with a wave of his hand. “I’m not going to be around for much longer anyway. There’s a man named Alexander Fleming whose about to make a miraculous discovery overseas.” He pursed his lips. “But are you sure it has to end so soon?”

Crowley leaned his shoulder against the brick wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Believe me, if it was up to me, this would continue for eternity, but orders are orders.” He crossed his ankles. “Don’t worry. I’ll probably just cause a little stock market crash, high unemployment rates for a couple of years. They’ll bounce back in no time.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, swallowing roughly. He didn’t really like the sound of that, but at the same time, there was nothing he could do. “Could I offer you a drink? This place has some of the best moonshine on the black market.”

He shook his head. “You know I don’t like to drink.” He pushed himself off of the wall. “I wouldn’t mind a dance, though.”

His eyes widened. “Need I remind you, angels don’t dance, Crowley.”

_“Most_ angels don’t dance.” He smirked and extended a hand out to him. “But you’re not like most angels, now are you?”

Aziraphale’s gaze flickered down to Crowley’s hand. It looked unassuming, like any other hand made of flesh and bone and muscles and sinews and tendons and veins pumping blood. But he wondered what would happen if he did take his hand. Would he be consumed by hellfire then and there? He reached out his own, his palm hovering above Crowley’s, before finally making contact. He waited to burst into flames, but nothing ever came. The only spark that ignited was the one coming from his skin against his.

“Oh, all right.” Aziraphale smiled. “Just one dance.”

The demon grinned back at him and pulled him to his feet. He dragged him into the middle of the dance floor, dancing bodies surrounding them on all sides. There was no escape, but as Crowley started to move in time to the blaring jazz music, Aziraphale found himself not longing to flee. He started to dance, much more elegantly than his counterpart, though watching Crowley try to match the beat and rhythm of the music with his body put a smile on Aziraphale’s face.

He quirked a brow at him. “Are you laughing at me, angel?”

Despite the obvious laughter falling from his lips, he answered, “No, not at all,” his tone dripping with sarcasm.

They continued, periodically taking turns to twirl each other under the other’s arm. It must have been something, back in those days, to see two men dancing so closely with one another, but it was so dark and crowded in the room, it was impossible to tell who was who. Everyone was faceless, and their attire blended together in a blur of color. Aziraphale found it freeing. This close to Crowley, he could smell the scent of cigarette smoke and burnt wood that followed him everywhere he went and feel the unexpected amount of strength contained within his lanky limbs.

The song came to an end as the band stopped playing. Aziraphale and Crowley separated from each other and ceased dancing, opting instead to stare at one another. Aziraphale felt lightheaded, maybe from all of the spinning and the cocktails earlier. Crowley raked over his form. He anticipated his needs before Aziraphale could even say anything.

“Want some fresh air?” he asked.

They headed out of the barroom together, going unnoticed by the other patrons. This particular speakeasy was located in the heart of New York City in the back of a diner in a subterranean level of the building. It required a password to enter. Aziraphale and Crowley walked down the bustling streets shoulder to shoulder, listening to the consistent honking of car horns and catching snippets of conversations as people passed them. No one ever even knew there was a demon and an angel amongst their midst, let alone walking side by side.

They came across Central Park. It was the end of summer, so the towering trees and dry grass were already starting to wilt. The leaves shriveled up and turned brown, some already snapping off of branches and floating through the air where they eventually came to rest on the ground. It was a peculiarly chilly night, and Aziraphale was grateful that his coat shielded him from the cold bite of the night air. The wind weaved its way through the park and blew past them, ruffling the white hair on his head until it stuck up in soft tufts. Crowley chuckled when he noticed it. Aziraphale blushed and smoothed his hair back down with his hands.

“Fancy a walk?” the demon asked.

They strolled through the park in silence, listening to the chirping of the cicadas in the untamed bushes and the breeze whistling through the trees, causing them to sway this way and that. The deeper into the park they went, the further the neon lights got until they faded into the background. The only light illuminating their path was from the moon and the stars and the occasional streetlamp. Aziraphale nervously chewed on his bottom lip, the unsaid question lingering between them eating him up inside.

“Have you heard anything about,” he lowered his voice to a whisper even though he knew there was no one around to hear them for miles, “the end of the world?”

The pleasant smile on Crowley’s face vanished the second he finished his sentence. “No, I haven’t.”

Aziraphale faced forward. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” He tried to save face.

Crowley hummed in response. The topic seemed to loom over their heads more recently than it ever had before. Aziraphale could tell it was coming close. It could be days or even decades from now, but he could feel it, like a buzzing in the air, and it nagged him.

They came across a wrought iron bench looking over a little pond on the gravel path. Crowley sat down first, and Aziraphale took the seat next to him soon after. The light of the moon glinted on the dark water and highlighted the ripples on the surface as it pulled the tide in and out. Aziraphale listened to the slight splash of water and watched as a few ducks glided across the pond.

“Do you reckon there’s a way to stop it from happening?” Aziraphale broke the comfortable silence that had settled over them after a while. The clear quality to his voice like the ring of a golden bell sliced through it like a knife.

Crowley didn’t turn to face him. "Stop what from happening?”

“The end of the world,” he clarified.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I doubt it.” He looked out over the pond. The emotion in his eyes was indeterminable due to the sunglasses. “If heaven and hell want a war, they’ll get their war.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “But there must be something we can do!”

The demon whipped his head to gape at him. _“We?”_ His face contorted with frustration. “There’s nothing _we_ can do. We’re as subject to the Great Plan as anyone else.”

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek. He knew it was true. Angels and demons were supposed to be the fate makers, changing the path of history through temptation or salvation, but even they had things they couldn’t do. In this circumstance, they were as helpless as any unassuming human.

“I’ll find something to do,” he muttered, mainly to himself even though he knew Crowley could hear him. “There must be a way. I won’t stop until I find it.”

The demon beside him chuckled lowly. “I know you won’t.” Then, he said in the softest and most gentle tone Aziraphale had ever heard him use, “That’s why I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale felt like time stopped around him. It was his turn to stare at him out of bewilderment. From the look on his face, Crowley seemed to be taken aback by his own words himself. His complexion had turned a shade paler, and his lips formed into a small, round ‘o’ shape.

Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a frown. “That’s not funny, Crowley.”

There was a moment before he replied, “I’m not lying.” He scanned Crowley’s face for any hint that he was joking, but it was strangely blank. His lips were pressed into a thin, straight line, and his forehead was creased

Aziraphale clung to the bench like he might fall off the edge of the Earth if he didn’t. Was he hearing things? It couldn’t have been a slip up. He was the one who had been drinking, not Crowley. He knew he should’ve felt repulsed, maybe even disgusted, but all Aziraphale felt like was that the end of the world had come early and without warning.

“You can’t possibly feel that way for me, Crowley.” He wrinkled his brow.

“I know I’m not supposed to.” His voice sounded like it was on the verge of cracking. His chin wobbled, and that’s when Aziraphale noticed the streak of tears leaking out from each eye underneath his sunglasses.

He was crying? Ethereal beings weren’t supposed to cry, weren’t supposed to feel anything close to any sort of human emotion that could make them cry. Had they been on this Earth for so long they had forgotten who they were? They were an angel and a demon. They were sworn enemies, opposite sides of the same coin. They were supposed to be inherently different, but as Aziraphale gazed at Crowley, he wondered if the only difference between them was that one of them had fallen and the other hadn’t.

He tentatively reached forward and pinched the frames of Crowley’s sunglasses. His jaw went slack, and Crowley raised a hand to stop him. But it landed limp on his wrist, like he wasn’t really resisting. Slowly, Aziraphale slid his sunglasses off of him. He folded them and held them tightly in his hand. Crowley’s eyes were closed, but eventually he opened them. There they were, the same shocking yellow with a black slit down the middle. They were always so cold and hard and unfeeling, but now they had a certain softness to them, like one more word and he would break. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes and stained his slim cheeks.

Crowley looked down, and Aziraphale put a finger under his chin. He lifted his face so he was staring directly at him. He felt himself lean forward until there were only inches between their faces. His body seemed to know what he was doing, even if his mind didn’t.

“I just want to see what it feels like,” he whispered as his gaze flickered down to Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale closed the distance between them, and his lips made contact with Crowley’s. He was sure he was on fire now. The burning sensation spread from his lips throughout his body, running along his nerves until it reached his fingertips. He wondered if, when he pulled away, he would see smoke. Crowley froze at first, but eventually relaxed into the kiss, moving his lips against Aziraphale’s. He could taste the salt from Crowley’s tears mix with the gin he had been drinking on his own tongue, but it was sweet.

He felt kind of silly and ridiculous, kissing Crowley like they were two humans in love. Surely, angels and demons were above such things. What were they, and who were they pretending to be anymore? But for some reason, Aziraphale felt warmth spread through his limbs at the simple act of affection.

He pulled away and opened his eyes to meet Crowley’s snakelike ones. He moved his hand that was under his chin to cup his cheek. He brushed away a stray tear that had fallen with his thumb. His skin was surprisingly soft and smooth to the touch.

“We could run away, you know.” Crowley’s usually commanding voice was small and vulnerable. “The universe is billions of light-years wide. The Earth seems like a dust speck in comparison.”

Aziraphale laughed slightly. He would always wonder why God chose this planet out of all the others to meddle with. “I love you, Crowley,” the demon’s face lit up at his words, “but you know I can’t abandon this world. I can’t give up on it, on the people. Not yet.”

He thought that Crowley would be angry and retaliate as he usually did when Aziraphale spoke fondly of humans, but instead, he smiled. It was a painful smile, and Aziraphale could tell he mustered all of his strength to force the corners of his lips upwards, but he still did it. “That’s my angel.”

Aziraphale smiled back. He rested his head on Crowley’s chest, and Crowley wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. He felt safe and warm and protected in Crowley’s arms, though he knew he ought to feel the opposite. He wondered when everything became so complicated. He and Crowley had only seen each other a handful of times over the centuries, very briefly when they had, but at some point between the garden and now they had fallen in love with each other. They held onto each other like they were falling apart, and even though doom was impending and the apocalypse was on the horizon and they didn’t know when they would see each other again, for a short, beautiful moment, everything was fine, and they were just in love, and they had each other forever, like it or not.

It wasn't the end of the world, but something had ended that night.


End file.
